Touch and Go

“You’re not even trying.”

Her jaw tensed. “I am trying.”

“Then you’re not concentrating properly. With time, practice and patience, you’ll be able to thread a needle just by thinking about it.” He looked down at the glass, his hand resting only a few inches to the left of it. “Now concentrate and push it.”

Her forehead creased. “I’m trying.”

“Try harder.”

The next moment, the glass shattered and ice-cold water soaked his lap.

He jumped back and looked at her sharply. “That was a bit too much.”

She had her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to do that. Seriously.”

The water was very cold. However, it did help to douse his arousal—a little. Kind of like an involuntary cold shower. He realized that Carrie was laughing. That’s why she was covering her mouth.

He tried not to smile, but it was a struggle. “You meant to break the glass. It just shows me you have more control than you think you do.”

“I know you seem to believe that practice makes perfect, but I just don’t feel it. This is something that has a mind of its own and wants to do its own thing.”

“So it was the telekinesis that dumped a cold glass of water on me for pushing you outside of your comfort zone. Not you.”

She jutted her chin out. “Exactly.”

He’d been called a strict teacher before. Once upon a time, he’d considered teaching high school biology—he loved science and wanted to share his enthusiasm with his students. That was before he’d discovered the depth of his empathic ability and been recruited into PARA right out of college. Since then, he’d worked with many psychics in all categories—clairvoyants, empaths, TKs. Not all took to his teaching methods perfectly. Especially those who were resistant to learning in the first place.

Some students, like Carrie, were less cooperative than others.

“If you think of it as a separate entity, there’s no way you’ll ever be able to control it.” He grabbed a napkin and blotted his lap. “You already have that control inside of you—I know you do. You just don’t believe it.”

“I can do lots of things when I put my mind to it. This is not one of them.”

“Then you’re defeated before you even begin.”

“Which is why you don’t want to work with me.” Her bottom lip quivered and it nearly undid him. He didn’t want to upset her any more than he already had.

He sighed. “Carrie, like I already told you, it’s not you, it’s me.”

“Where have I heard that line before?” she asked dryly. “Oh, wait a minute. I think it was in high school from somebody who couldn’t think of a real excuse.”

She didn’t seem to have a problem speaking her mind.

He raked a hand through his hair. “You’ll be fine with somebody else, I promise you will.”

“Have you even had any partners other than me? Or are you the only solo agent with PARA at the moment?”

More questions. “I’ve had a couple. But I’ve only been a field agent again for a few months.”

“So is this what you tell your partners? It’s not them, it’s you? Have any of them even lasted a week with you before?” Her sharp tone betrayed her hurt feelings.

This was beginning to feel like a tug-of-war. She was angling for information and he was reluctant to give her any, and yet he wanted her to understand his decision to place her with a new partner. “One lasted two whole weeks.”

“Those walls you’ve built up around yourself are pretty thick. Since I’m not an empath, I can’t quite see through them, but I see enough. I’m very observant.”

He leaned back in the deck chair. “There’s no need to talk about this, Carrie.”

“Patrick Liam McKay. Thirty-six years old. Recruited by the Paranormal Assessment and Recovery Agency thirteen years ago at Yale University. Field agent for four years, then headed the Mystic Ridge branch as agency manager for nearly nine years before his accident.”

He stared at her with surprise. “Are you writing up my bio?”

“I did that research for the Medallion article. But you’d probably be surprised what’s available from a simple Google search.”

“This isn’t a magazine article. And you’re not a journalist anymore.”

“No, I’m a paranormal investigator now. But you said yourself my natural curiosity is going to be an asset to this job.”

He wanted to keep his guard up but her flushed cheeks only made her more beautiful. He was dismayed by how much he wanted her, even now. And he was the one who talked about professionalism. “I’m sure it will.”

“Do you do that with everyone?”

“What?”

“Be so diplomatic. Makes people who don’t know you that well think you’re a nice guy, doesn’t it? But maybe you’re not so nice.”

Despite his attraction to Carrie, he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and it wasn’t simply because his crotch was soaking wet. He flicked a rapidly melting ice cube off his right thigh. “I never claimed to be nice.”

“I think I’m starting to figure you out.”

“Is that so?” He stroked a finger over his BlackBerry as it began to vibrate on the table. He glanced at the screen to see an email had arrived from the office—the file he’d requested about the goddess Erzulie. He’d read it later.

“You don’t like it when people get too close,” Carrie said. “Not just physically, either. You like to keep everyone at a safe distance since your accident. Or rather, since you got better from that accident.”

His shoulders stiffened. “People change.”

She shook her head. “Something changed you. You’re an empath, but now you don’t touch people, which leads me to believe that it has to do with your psychic ability.”

“You’re welcome to have any theories you like about me. It’s a free country.” He really wished he had a pair of sunglasses to hide his own eyes. She was studying him like a sample under a microscope. He looked down at his BlackBerry again.

“You refused to touch people right when you started walking again, which means you can’t really use your empathic ability anymore.”

His gaze flicked from the smart phone’s screen to her. She was far too insightful for her own good. He had to stop this before it got out of control. He struggled to keep his face expressionless.

“I don’t refuse to touch people,” he said. “I’ll touch you right now to prove it.”

She extended her hand without hesitating. A challenge. “Okay. Touch me. Tell me how I’m feeling.”

He eyed her closely. “Did someone put you up to this? Was it Amanda?”